THE PROOF'S IN THE TRUTH

Carpe diem kept running through her mind. How ironic Dana thought as she sank lower in the tub of hot, restorative water, which she hoped would retool her frayed peace of mind. Grotesque shadows from the past loomed large in her psyche. Tamping those phantoms down as best she could, she exhaled deliberately, squeezing the tension that went with having misgivings through her delicate nostrils. The hue of her exposed, wet skin, glistening, reminded her of tissue paper. She glided both hands against her snow-capped knees as she cast a sigh into the moisture-rich air. Her remodeled bathroom with its gleaming new fixtures, sleek white subway tiles, beaded board paneling and decoupage map wallpaper had been handsomely transformed. It was a haven revamped, even lighter and brighter. She was proudest of her clawfoot, cast iron slipper bathtub, which stood next to the shuttered window on the neutral travertine floor. Having craved this sort of tub for so long, she reveled in its off-white classic elegance. Lazily, her thoughts muzzy, yet traveling a direct path, her hand stretched for the glass of reasonably chilled red wine, a spritzy Lambrusco, and not too sweet. Wines that were too sweet left an annoying aftertaste in her mouth.

Taking a nice slow sip, Dana eased back again in her private mini water park of relaxation and calm. Unbidden, Sveta's haunting words invaded her sanctuary as they tolled in her mind. "You probably don't recognize me...you interviewed me and my family when I was just a little girl." When Dana reopened her eyes, she shivered in the piping water that made this room a steam bath. What she and Sveta shared in common wreaked havoc internally. She quaked internally.

Sveta and her shell-shaped scars and the scars I carry, I try so hard to bury, keeping them far from sight, she pondered.

"Don't give up," she intoned, imbibing substantially this time, the wine she'd drunk thus far loosening her achy lower limbs. Her head didn't hurt as much as it had a while ago as thoughts of Mulder left their elusive trails. Traipsing through the past was grueling. Had she ever been that young, and dewy-eyed, when she'd chosen to make debunking Mulder's obsessions her cause? More wine. Licking her lips as the smooth, tasty liquid snaked down her throat, Dana let go. She set the small stemmed water glass down again on the little stool close to the tub. Mulder's dogmatic voice chimed in her ears..."Humans have been working on alien hybrids." How clandestine of them, Dana rued. "We were misled. Sveta is the key to unlocking the truth."

She wondered how long it would take Mulder to contact his old pals, the trio of conspiracy theorists, who had somehow mysteriously survived their supposed demise. Dana's mind reeled as those troubling old times were worming their insidious ways back into her life. Her life, the one she had worked feverishly to reconstruct after the bottom had dropped out of what had seemed to be reality. His skewed reality Mulder was now so sure they'd been duped to believe.

Why now, was this incongruous claptrap and rigmarole, coming to light? Was it yet another ploy to mislead him off on still another dreary tangent?

She hiccuped once, then twice and a little smile played on her lips as she airily breathed, "And away we go," inaugurated by her feet splashing the water that had cooled since her disjointed musings had begun. Sitting up, she let out some of the water to lower the level in the tub, waited until the level she desired was reached, then turned the hot water faucet on again to warm things up. All the while she had continued muttering what Tad had led Mulder to embrace.

"Alien technology has been hoarded to serve a darker threat..."

"You'd loved to prove that, wouldn't you? You need proof, Tad, not impossible speculations which cause hysteria."

The whimsical smile that had played upon her lips vanished as she shut off the hot water faucet. In heightened exacerbation, she released, "Mulder, Mulder, Mulder...when does it end? How much more of your life will you theorize away? Do you expect me to blindly follow, trusting you, believing in your hypothesis of what truth is?" She brought her wrist up to her mouth, mashing the lateral side of her hand against it as tears desperate to be shed welled up. "You'll never stop until you satisfy what it is that torments you." In the background, beyond these four walls a neighbor's dog brayed. Dana took several calming breaths, listening to the yelping of the raspy animal. The disruptive noise reminded her of the case that had involved an eerie breed in particular, the Wanshang Dhole and its aftermath of Mulder's I Want To Believe poster being replaced by Karin Berquist. Though Dana had purposely upped her bath water's degrees, she couldn't help but shiver as torrents of disturbing retrospection cascaded through her floodgates. Uncertainty stole through her, choking her slowly, until Dana couldn't breathe her way around those suffocating thoughts and memories.

"If your life has become a punch line, Mulder, mightn't it have been you who supplied the grist to that mill?" She grimly restated her own words with a twist to their intent. "It's all so stupid, not. It borders on treason, not." Her heavy sigh lingered in the room after she finished draining her glass of not so chilled wine. Where did the wine go, trickled in her brain. A pang of sobriety reclaimed her when she thought that she and Sveta had something madding and painfully in common, aside from Mulder. "Genome, oh genome... Where'd my alien DNA come from?" A good deal more pie-eyed than when she'd entered the tub, Dana paused, then giggles escaped. Contemplative at the moment, strident the next, she jauntily remarked, "And-I'm back. Someone has to stop whoever did this to me and what's her name. If not Mulder and me, who? We are the X-Files!" She jerked her arm into a salute. Additional giggles burbled from her as she jeered, "Ol' Smokey, are you still breathing?" An outpouring of emotion triggered more water splashing perpetrated by forceful hands. She squinted with the introduction of somewhat sudsy water entering an eye. "Watch it turns out he was never wiped off the map. Even as I splash, he's probably alive, laughing as well, and still behind all this rack and ruin."

The thought of the Cigarette-Smoking Man undead drove shock waves through Dana. "Cancerman, you better not be still alive," she vented for the benefit of hearing such conviction out loud.

Carefully making it to her feet, she stepped out of the tub and heard her cell phone ping. She reached for it on the same stool the wine glass sat and grinned seeing it was her own personal conspiracy enthusiast calling. Still predictable after all these years, she thought. Maybe even crazier too. He was back in her life as easily as his not having been in it mere days ago. Her heart leapt as she accepted the call while shimmying back down into the cherished tub. Huskily, she funneled into the phone, "Whassup?"

"Hey, Shorty..."

"Mulder, in all the time we've been together, you never made fun of my height, or lack thereof, before," she pooh-pooed.

He didn't reply right away, just snickered, treasuring the tipsy vibe laced in her reproof. "Sure I have, Scully. Lots of time, never meant as a put-down. Remember it's slang for a fine female. Which be you," he chirped, going for street-wise.

Feeling dizzy in the tub, Dana held on to one of its curved sides. "I'm not as cute and cuddly as I used to be." Cuddly, she mentally winced. When had she ever been that unless under the age of six counted.

Mulder, calling from the Gunmen's new and improved 'digs,' waved her nonsense off. "Who said?"

"I say, Mulder," Dana huffed, rising up from the water that was tepid again, determined to snag a towel, then her bathrobe, to ensconce herself in it. Dry, while wrapping the robe around herself she replied, "Mulder..." About to protest that she had another bottle of wine to crack open, her soon-to-be-on-again partner in investigation of far-out phenomena that defied plausible explanation cut her off.

"The guys say, 'hi.'"

"Hey, Scully," said Langly, breaking off from installing the latest in virus protection long enough to say, "Missed you."

She wasn't sure she shared exactly the same sense of loss as he, but she voiced, "Missed you too. Good hearing your voice."

Byers stepped in and extended his sincerest sentiments. "Agent Scully, it's been too long. Look forward to seeing you again."

Shaking his head, Frohike yanked Mulder's phone from Byers' sweaty hand and saucily extended, "Hey, pretty lady, it's been quite the dry spell not hearing from, seeing, or leering at you."

In the background, Langly's and Byers' hushed voices, promoted, "See if she'll come over."

She heard 'Hike's co-conspiracy theorists' motley request and made out Mulder and Frohike distinctly groan in tandem in retaliation. She marched to the fridge for additional wine. Forget her glass. Wild horses couldn't keep her from drinking straight out of the bottle. It was true; some history had a nasty way of repeating itself. It had been a rough day at the hospital, having said goodbye to her patients and colleagues. The reason for her resignation would remain her un-revealable secret. She was FBI-bound and the Bureau had her until further notice. That went for the man who would not rest until he had his answers too.

Old feelings she thought she felt no more about Mulder had no trouble resurfacing.

With his phone recovered and resting firmly in his possessive hand, Mulder, in tried-and-true knee-jerk fashion resumed, "Hey, Scully, what are you wearing?"

Sagging, but promptly holding herself proud, she shrugged, not answering until she took care of her most urgent need. In a matter of moments, she had her next bottle of Lambrusco uncorked. With her head tilted back and the mouth of the wine bottle at her lips, she guzzled her fill.

"Scully? Scully? Are you still there?" If she could have seen his face at the other end, which was a mask of heightened unease, she might have mustered up some small sympathy. Her rejoining him put her at risk, and this time he swore that no matter what, his mission was twofold. Know the truth and protect her from who knew what, bent on destroying them in the process. He hadn't told her everything about what he'd been up to these 'lost' years, years he had gone it alone without her and her inimitable guidance. Since reuniting, she hadn't blamed him, though, hadn't said one word about what had really made her leave him, having never looked back.

Following a round of airy-sounding hiccups, Scully came back on. "Still here, Mulder."

"Are you drinking?"

"Am I drinking?" Her twitter-patter laugh sounded unbound, as if she hadn't a care in the world. Right now, she didn't. "I'm quaffing, Mulder. Quaffing. There's a difference. A big one."

"Want company?" He sniffed.

"Do you?"

He lowered his voice. "I could really use yours." He sniffed again. "Quaffing alone isn't half as much fun as quaffing together."

Expansively, she retorted, "Then, help yourself." Hiccup. "I'll save you some."

He'd had lesser invitations of late, and bit at the chance to share drowning sorrows together. "I'll bring more. What are you drinking?"

Swaying a little on her feet, she gave the bottle in her hand a glancing glance. "Lambrusco, but, sangria works too."

"Yes, it certainly does. See ya, Scully. We'll collaborate...like old times."

"Mulder..."

"Yeah, Scully?"

"I've missed you too. I'm not just saying that because maybe you think I should have said it." The pause was pregnant enough. "Before."

What a little alcohol in one's system could do, like loosen a tongue he used to ravage with his.

"I think we've got lots to catch up on. And the right fuel to feed it." Old feelings that underlay memories gnawed at him too. "See you soon."

She smiled fondly at the wine bottle, padding over to, then sidling her way onto one of the saddle seat counter stools. The kitchen appeared lopsided and she giggled at that. Going back in time, was that so bad? Her world, having all the earmarks of a merry-go-round, shifted into place. Fidgeting in the seat, she cooed into the phone,"Soon, Mulder." Having his voice in her ear had her feeling warmer than the wine.

The years of separation, too much time apart, melted away when she heard him say, "I've been away too long from my touchstone."

Her gentle sobbing replaced easy banter as she clung to the phone and heard him promise the Lone Gunmen he'd see them sometime tomorrow. Until then, they needed to keep at what he'd given them to do , which they promised they would.

Back into the phone he vouched, "Too, too long."

Reflecting on what their reuniting meant, she softly replied, "Stop making it longer. Get over here."

"Bye..."